


You Are Mine (And I Am Yours)

by vintagelilacs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Jealous Arthur Pendragon, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Socially Constipated Arthur Pendragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintagelilacs/pseuds/vintagelilacs
Summary: Merlin’s eyes latched onto his. Arthur felt flayed bare under that unremitting blue gaze. “I am, you know.”His heart palpitated. “What?”“Yours.”





	You Are Mine (And I Am Yours)

There were certain perquisites, as ruler of Camelot, that Arthur had come to expect. They included--but were not limited to--having someone else dress him, prepare his every meal, and bathe him. These exceedingly important duties were relegated to his manservant, Merlin, who unfortunately was far from the ideal attendant. He lacked respect and neglected Arthur’s proper titles more frequently than he used them, he consistently nicked food off of Arthur’s plate, and he was absolute rubbish at any sort of cleaning. Additionally, he was blasé about punctuality, could barely dress himself let alone Arthur, and his penchant for disaster led him to break more of Arthur's belongings than he fixed. Then there was the matter of Arthur’s baths. The water Merlin brought was either uncomfortably cool or boiling hot, and Merlin made no secret how he abhorred lugging Arthur’s bathwater up the seven flights of stairs. If one of King Uther’s personal servants displayed such incompetence, they would be dismissed in a heartbeat, but Merlin had grown on Arthur like a persistent fungus.

Admittedly, once one got past Merlin’s overall ineptitude and almost terminal level of stupidity, the boy was staunchly loyal and an attentive listener. Every now and then an insightful observation would emerge from his largely incoherent babble, and despite Arthur’s better judgment, he began to seek out Merlin’s counsel on all sorts of matters, ranging from his love-life to battle strategies.

Merlin had put his own life on the line for Arthur countless times, and regardless of his numerous shortcomings, he was Arthur’s closest friend and confidante--the one person he could entrust his life to without even the slightest intimation of fear of betrayal or sabotage. Merlin was utterly devoted to him, which was perhaps why it was so disconcerting to see his manservant now. 

Gwaine was practically hanging off Merlin's shoulders, and his idiot of a manservant was doing nothing to rebuff him. If anything, the way he leaned slightly into Gwaine’s touch could only be seen as an act of encouragement. For God’s sake, did Merlin have any concept of propriety and decorum? Such careless public touching was entirely inappropriate, and not simply because he was touching someone other than Arthur. Anyone who looked at the pair of them was bound to get the wrong idea. 

In some kingdoms, deviant relationships were disallowed, but Camelot had never banned affairs of such a nature. Uther's prejudice seemed reserved for sorcerers, which was a blessing given how many of the knights warmed each other's beds. It was much more convenient sleeping with a man than a woman, in Arthur’s opinion. The female help were more prone to gossip, and dalliances with men did not pose the risk of conceiving a bastard child. He'd only experimented with the knights and noblemen on a few occasions, but he was satisfied leaving the encounters as one-offs. There was no one from his past that he cared to seek out again, but that was mainly because no one had ever occupied his thoughts the way Merlin had. His manservant had wormed his way into Arthur's mind and heart and settled down permanently, thoughts of him intruding at the most inopportune moments, namely when Arthur was in the middle of a wank.

Arthur wondered if Gwaine was hoping to coerce Merlin into his bed, but the idea was ludicrous. Gwaine was of noble blood and a skilled fighter, while Merlin was a servant who couldn't even be trusted to hold a sword without accidentally nicking himself. And Gwaine was objectively much more attractive. Merlin's ears were abnormally large, his face too-thin, and his body more lanky than brawny. His physical appearance was an assortment of oddities that complemented his equally odd personality. The notion of someone else finding Merlin desirable wasn't just strange, it was laughable. Sure, he had well-defined cheekbones, expressive eyes, and lips as large and pouty as a girl’s, but he was also... well, Arthur couldn't quite come up with any other negative attributes at the moment. 

Arthur supposed that because he found his own interest in Merlin so absurd, he'd assumed no one else would ever be at risk of desiring him. Unfortunately it seemed he was wrong. Under normal circumstances, Arthur couldn’t begin to care what Gwaine did, or more accurately, _who_ , but from what he could see, Merlin was actually being receptive to his advances. 

Arthur watched as Gwaine leaned closer, brushing his lips against Merlin's ear and whispering something that sent him into paroxysms of laughter. Unlike the simpering, false laughter of the court, Merlin’s laugh was unrestrained and full of mirth. Even from across the hall, Arthur could see the creases that feathered out from the corners of his eyes as Gwaine’s antics reduced him nearly to tears. What on earth could have made Merlin laugh so hard? Probably some vulgar, uncouth joke that no dignified person would even be tempted to laugh at. They were idiots, the both of them. 

Bilious jealousy churned in Arthur’s gut as he stared unnoticed at the pair. Finally they split-off, but not before Gwaine gave Merlin’s arm a friendly parting squeeze. 

If Gwaine had time to be fraternizing, his training as a knight was clearly too lax. Arthur mentally assigned him a new training regiment that would eliminate his abundance of free time. As for Merlin… well, he would certainly have words with _his_ servant.

* * *

“Now, I know I said I’d have your tunic laundered for this evening, and I definitely would have, but see, one of the serving girls is suffering from morning sickness so Gaius needed me to fetch herbs, and I would have still had time, but he was a little vague in his description and also I suppose I wasn’t really listening either, so I actually gathered the wrong species of plant and had to make a second trip. Though really, I don’t think it should have been necessary at all because my mum always said ginger, chamomile, and thyme were the best remedies to use during pregnancy and we have access to all those at the castle but I suppose they’re not up to Gaius’ standards and--” 

Merlin cut himself off. Clearly he wasn’t use to being allowed to prattle on so long without interruption.

“Are you feeling alright, Arthur?”

Arthur had barely processed a word Merlin had spouted, too concerned with the queasiness in his own stomach. Rather than fade as time went on, it seemed his jealousy was only festering. He knew he was making a pother out of nothing, but he couldn’t assuage the sick feeling tormenting his gut as he dwelled on Merlin and Gwaine's relationship. 

"It's not like you to be so quiet," Merlin continued. "You ought to be careful. If you use too much of your brain at once you might strain it."

Arthur didn't rise to the bait. His mood was too black and his heart too heavy to enjoy their usual banter. “I don't want you associating with Gwaine anymore.” 

Merlin’s head snapped up so fast Arthur was surprised he didn’t sprain his neck. “What? Why?”

Arthur dithered for a moment. “He's a bad influence.” 

A proper servant would respond with a meek “yes, my lord” and leave it at that, but Merlin had never been one to respect his betters. 

“Oh, but you can hang around him, is that it?” He demanded, a muscle jumping in his cheek. 

Arthur averted his gaze. “Yes-well, he's a knight. I’m required to.”

This did nothing to placate Merlin. “Really Arthur? I can't hang around him because I'm of a lower class? I didn't take you for that much of a bigot.” 

“You can't address me like that,” Arthur snapped automatically, but he wasn’t really angry. His father would have been furious in his position, but he was never capable of mustering up anger towards Merlin. In fact, the rush of adrenaline he got from arguing with him was more pleasant than not. It was the same raw energy he felt during a jousting tournament or on a hunt. He felt powerful, his muscles coiling for a fight, and his body thrumming with a heady sort of tension. 

Merlin's eyes widened in disbelief. “I can address you however I like. I think I've earned that right.” 

Arthur’s heart roared in his ears. “You'd do well to remember your station.”

The air between them seemed to crackle with energy. If Arthur didn't know any better, he'd assume it was magic.

“I'm quite aware of my station, you royal arse. And I can befriend whoever I choose. Including Gwaine!” 

“No.” Arthur was aware he sounded like a spoiled child, and was behaving like one as well. Despite this, jealousy and lust burned through him like a manticore's venom, flooding his veins and tainting his blood until every inch of him was ablaze. 

Merlin rose to his full height, his gangly body pulled taut. “Why the bloody hell not?” he demanded. 

Merlin’s voice carried like a challenge, and Arthur was eager to pick up the gauntlet. “Because you're mine!” 

Wait. No, that was wrong. That wasn't what Arthur had meant to say. And from Merlin's shocked expression, it certainly wasn't what he’d expected to hear. 

“My-my servant,” Arthur corrected himself quickly. “You're my manservant. You can't afford any distractions.” 

The anger and hurt fled from Merlin's expansive face and the hardness his features had adopted at once softened. “Arthur.” 

"It was a slip of the tongue, Merlin. Let it go.” _For once in your obnoxious life._

Merlin’s eyes latched onto his. Arthur felt flayed bare under that unremitting blue gaze. “I am, you know.” 

His heart palpitated. “What?” 

“Yours.” 

“Yes, you are my servant. Good to know your hearing hasn't failed you yet.” 

“That's not what I meant.” 

“Then what--” 

“I think you already know.” 

Arthur’s throat was drier than he could remember it ever being. Drier than when drought and famine had plagued the kingdom. “I'm not a mind-reader,” he countered. 

“I’m yours, Arthur. In whatever way you want me, I am yours. I always have been and I always will.” 

“I, um. I-I dont--” 

Merlin stalked towards him. “I thought princes were supposed to be eloquent.” 

Arthur may not know how to react to Merlin’s tender, dulcet tones, but he knew how to handle his insolence all too well. “Princes also aren't supposed to court their servants,” he retorted. 

“Courting,” Merlin repeated, sounding out the word as if hearing it for the first time. “Is that what you're trying to do? I thought we were just having a conversation, but if you intend to court me, by all means.” 

There it was again. That playful smile. Sinful pink lips curling up and revealing a flash of pale teeth. His blue eyes shining almost gold in the torchlight. 

Arthur had dreamed of kissing that smug look off Merlin's face countless times. And for once, he did. 

His fingers grasped the lapels of Merlin's threadbare clothes and he yanked him into a bruising kiss. Their bodies aligned from chest to groin, and Arthur was dimly embarrassed at how insistent his arousal already was. 

He wasn't given time to dwell on it, because Merlin immediately pushed back into the kiss, unwilling to yield even now. Their mouths slotted together naturally, as if they’d been doing this all along. It was a hot, wet glide of tongues and teeth, a rhythm of push and pull, claim and surrender, of which Merlin was unfairly skilled at. Their hands roamed across shoulders and arms, stroking across cheeks and jaws before twining through locks of hair. Arthur felt drunk, his mind addled with lust. The fervor with which they kissed was as intense as the love potions he'd been under in the past, but none of what he felt now was contrived. He wanted Merlin. He'd wanted him for so long, but being granted the permission to have him intensified his desire tenfold. The longing in Merlin's gaze was intoxicating, the smoothness of his skin and plump softness of his lips enough to ignite a life-long addiction. When they finally broke apart to gasp in breath, Merlin beamed up at him with kiss-swollen lips.

“Do you do this with all your servants?”

“You're an idiot,” Arthur informed him, before leaning in to kiss him once more.


End file.
